


mothball theory

by marshmallowdeanie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas AU, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Hurt Castiel, M/M, castiel loves christmas, delivery person dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2594261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmallowdeanie/pseuds/marshmallowdeanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which dean delivers castiel some groceries and they're cute with eachother. bonus: it's christmastime and castiel is very festive. fluff. sorry no porn!</p>
            </blockquote>





	mothball theory

Dean really hates his job.

Working at the grocery store has got to be the most boring job anyone could ever have. He hates even more that they offer a grocery delivery service, AND that got bumped from doing stock to driving the carpenter van around like meals on wheels for little old ladies or something. Because really, everyone does their own grocery shopping anymore. The only people who ever get it delivered are old people who have a hard time leaving their house or driving.

And it’s not like anyone who ever gets their items delivered ever buys one or two things. Oh no. And since the damned eco-friendly folks on the board of grocery store executives, or whatever, don’t believe in plastic bags, Dean is stuck taking multiple trips and manhandling big, fat, heavy brown bags without handles into homes all day long. It wasn’t exactly his dream job. Correction, it wasn’t even close.

Dean finally escapes from his chatty Friday afternoon regular—Gladys—and realizes he only has one more stop to make, but it’s all the way across town. 

He sucks it up and with a grumble gets back in his van.

And great. As he pulls up, it’s an apartment building. These damned things are Dean’s worst nightmare. Once he had to carry four bags—none under twenty pounds—up thirteen flights because the elevator was having maintenance. He couldn’t lift his arms above his shoulders for two days.

Luckily as Dean enters the lobby he checks for any thwarting elevator nonsense and sees none. He has three bags in his arms and sets them at his feet once in the elevator to look at the customer’s order form.

Castiel Novak, room 710 west. ‘Why do old ladies have such weird names?’, Dean thinks, only long enough to be interrupted by the gentle lurch and ding! of the elevator opening at the 7th floor. He gathers the brown paper bags reluctantly and heads down the hallway in the direction he hopes is right. He’s getting better at navigating buildings but he’s gotten lost with ice cream before and let’s just say that Ethel and her demon poodle weren’t too happy about his service.

At least this is his last delivery, he thinks.

Dean can hear music playing from inside the apartment as he approaches the door, and determines that it’s some Christmas song as he knocks. “Mrs. Novak? Campbell Grocer, delivery,”

There’s sort of a long gap of time as Dean hears the music’s volume lower a bit and then he waits for the door to open, which is normal. Most of his deliveries are to people with a cane.

“Mister, actually. Hi, come in,” a warm, cheery voice says as it floats out from between two youthful pink lips. And no, Dean is not checking out an old lady. Not a lady at all actually.

The man stares at Dean looking amused. He’s on crutches.

"H-Hi—jeez, my bad, I just—your name—sorry," Dean blurts out without thinking about his words at all. His brain is still whirling on about that pretty face he wasn’t really expecting.

"Yeah. Imagine going to high school with a name like that. No problem," Castiel says very understandingly before adding hastily, "just throw those bags on the kitchen table,"

Dean is relieved to set the sagging paper bags down and shake his arms out a little. Then he properly gazes at the man, who’s leaning on two crutches yet smiling like it’s Christmas—and it kind of is, because the apartment, small as it is, looks like Santa’s fucking workshop. 

Dean knows he should say something, and he has to anyway, actually because the guy needs to sign his receipt. But he’s actually a little breathless because Castiel has dark, dark hair and the brightest blue in his eyes that Dean could believe is possible.

"Sorry, could you sign here…and uh, here. And again on the next page," Dean manages to stammer out, which is not at all what he wishes he said, but what’s done is done. If Dean had only met this guy in a bar…

"Mhm," Castiel retorts, sitting down on a kitchen stool and leaning his crutches against the wall behind him. He clicks the pen and says apologetically, "I’m so sorry I don’t have any cash for a tip. I feel bad having you deliver to me in the first place—I broke my ankle last week and apparently my mother thinks I’d starve between now and then if she didn’t send me a military care package, I just don’t under—"

Dean cuts him off and says, “No, no, you don’t have to give me anything, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. You’re hurt. My mom would’ve done the same for me,”

Castiel lifts his head and grins, piercing Dean with his gorgeous blue eyes again and replying, “Thank you,”

Dean nods and admittedly, blushes a little, hoping it goes unnoticed. He looks around casually at the apartment. It’s fucking covered in decorations and containers of even more decorations that are still unpacked. It’s incredible. There’s an artificial Christmas tree in the next room half strung with lights. There are Christmas lights in every nook and crevice and corner of the place, not to mention garlands and tinsel. 

"Not a problem. Heh, you sure go all out," he remarks, still admiring the red and green spectacle as the smell of something fantastic fills his nose and makes his stomach growl. Sinatra’s Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas is playing from somewhere in the apartment.

Castiel smiles widely and hands the pen and paper back to Dean. “Yes. It’s my favorite holiday! I like to start early,”

He looks utterly adorable, and Dean has the sudden, burning urge to stay here and decorate like a fucking Christmas elf with Castiel. And maybe rip his clothes off, too.

"You’re not kiddin’," Dean laughs nervously. It’s time for him to go now, technically. If he stays any longer it will be awkward.

"Again, I’m really sorry about the tip—I can get you some coffee? I’m making gingerbread cookies. I could probably sacrifice a few for your sake. Are you on a schedule?" Castiel invites, giving Dean that beautiful smile again like a fucking angel.

"It’s okay, no—uhm, I don’t want to intrude. It’s fine, really," he replies, heat creeping into his cheeks again. 

Castiel leans against the table and stands, reaching into one of the bags and revealing a box of cocoa. “Come on—I owe you for my helplessness. What about a hot cup of cocoa? I know you want some. It’s bitter out there,” he persuaded, and this time Castiel’s smile was contagious and Dean returned one back.

"This was my last delivery. I have to go back to work to punch out, but I guess I have some time," Dean says. 

"Awesome. Here, you can sit down. And what’s your name?" he asks Dean, sort of hobbling to the cupboards for mugs.

"Dean," he answers. He feels bad that Castiel is getting him hot chocolate with an injured leg, so he says, "Castiel…uh, can I help? I mean I could put some of these away for you," Dean gestures to the groceries on the table and Castiel shakes his head.

"No. Don’t worry about it. Relax. It’s the end of your shift. I’m perfectly capable, broken ankle or not—my arms till work. It’s Cas, by the way,” he turns around and places both cups of water into the microwave. Dean doesn’t argue, and he does relax a little.

"Thank you. You didn’t have to do this," Dean says, and he really means it.

"My pleasure," Cas replies, and maybe Dean misreads but he swears he saw a glint in Cas’s eyes when he glanced at him.

As Castiel stirs in the cocoa mix with the hot water, Dean tries to remember the last time he enjoyed Christmas.

His own apartment is no match for Cas’s. In fact it’s exact opposite. He never decorates. Hasn’t since he was a kid. His brother Sam does the decorating, so Dean goes over there on Christmas to see his family. It’s just Sam, Sam’s wife Jess, their two toddlers, and their Uncle Bobby. Usually he drinks himself into a stupor between wine and eggnog, which is fun, but it’s not as fun as Sam and Jess have telling the kids about Santa Claus. Even Bobby was seeing someone last year. Granted, it didn’t work out, but still.

Cas finally hands Dean the piping hot mug and sits down diagonal from him. There are three big marshmallows floating in the hot chocolate. Dean grins.

"Thank you,"

"You’re welcome. So how was your day?" Cas inquires, then blows some off the steam away rising from his own mug.

Dean almost laughs at the domesticity of Cas’s question. A little pang inside his chest longs for it, and then sinks.

"Okay. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting…this. I am normally delivering to women over sixty," Dean admits.

"What do you mean by ‘this’?” Cas asks, not accusatory, sort of curious. He still has a smile playing on his lips and Christmas music is still drifting into the room.

"A regular person. Well, old people are regular people, but someone who’s not calling me 'dear', or has fifteen cats, or smells like mothballs,” Dean says with a snort.

Cas apparently finds that funnier than Dean was expecting, laughing for a minute or so before clearing his throat to speak again. And he looks beautiful. Dean’s brain can’t find the right words for it, actually.

"How do you know? I could keep my cats elsewhere and maybe I do smell like mothballs—I buy a lot of clothes at the second hand store," Cas teases, shaking a sleeve of his tan sweater at Dean. 

Now that he thinks about it, he wouldn’t mind Cas calling him dear. Dean would also really like to get close enough to test the mothball theory. He laughs, “I’d be impressed if you could hide fifteen cats,” 

Cas snickers, and Dean takes a sip of his cocoa. It’s still too hot, but he can’t resist, cringing as it burns his throat. 

"You know, I’ve got to get the star on my tree somehow, and I’m kind of afraid to go up the ladder that far with this ankle," Cas says with a hint of embarrassment that Dean thinks is adorable. 

"Sure, I can do it for you," Dean says immediately. 

"Well, drink your hot chocolate first, by all means," Cas insists happily.

They talk a little more in the process of waiting for their drinks to cool and Dean finds out that Castiel is interning for the senator in this district and working as a secretary part-time for a law firm. Despite having a master’s degree he’s been bouncing around through jobs.

And apparently he broke his ankle jumping on a trampoline with his niece, whom he babysits for his brother sometimes. The story is a good one. The image when Cas tells it makes Dean laugh, which he feels bad for, but Castiel doesn’t care because he laughs about it a little, too. Dean’s heart stirs when Cas shows him the card his niece made him when she visited. He explains that he will be walking right again in 6-8 weeks. 

"Now, about that star," Dean says as he stands and sets his mug down on the table. He follows the crutch-bound man into the other room where he produces a metallic gold tree topper from a box of Christmas ornaments. 

"Let me know if it’s straight," Dean tells him, going up the metal step ladder. In his head, he chuckles to himself. Yes, let me know if you’re straight, too, Cas, please before I go crazy, Dean thought.

He’s tall enough to reach with less steps than Castiel would probably require. 

"Be careful," Castiel orders, and Dean can feel him holding the base of the ladder.

Dean fits the star into place and looks down to Cas for approval.

"Adjust it just a little to the left, your left,"

Dean obeys and Castiel is grinning really wide up at Dean when he looks down again.

Dean takes a step down and Cas is still spotting the ladder, and very close for that reason. A nervous lump rises in Dean’s throat and something like an electric shock buzzes in his spine when Castiel puts his hand on Dean’s lower back, right above his ass.

Dean looks at him, searching, and takes another step down so there are only two steps left til he’s on the floor. Castiel fists a handle in Dean’s grocery store polo shirt and pulls his head down to plant Dean’s lips on his own. Dean’s heart slams against his ribcage now.

When Cas pulls away, he has on the tiniest of smirks. “Thanks, dear," he mutters. When Dean gets it, he blows some air through his nose and gets off the ladder. 

"Anytime. Do you think I can see you sometime when I’m not bringing groceries?" Dean asks softly with a smile, still standing almost chest to chest with Castiel. 

Cas turns, picks something up, and hands it to Dean. “Yes. And wear this. I need someone to put up stockings,” It’s a Santa hat.

Dean leans in very slow and kisses Cas. The experiment is over now so he doesn’t think too much this time. Castiel’s lips are soft and he uses them to caress Dean’s so gentle, leaning in just so. Dean runs a hand down Cas’s sweater-clad arm and pulls back.

Dean really loves his job.


End file.
